Survival
by Flame and Treow
Summary: In a world where the laws of nature don't apply, human laws are not obeyed, and random immigration forcibly happens, a strange group of misfits must learn to survive the harsh new land they've been thrust into. Can they survive the hunger? Can they survive the cold? Can they survive the monsters? The better question is "Can they survive each other?"


**AN: For any fans of mine, I'm sorry that this isn't an update of my other stories (trust me, I'll get to those) but after many hours of Don't Starve, getting into the lore and the gameplay and all that, I had some inspiration. Hope you enjoy.**

The brisk feeling of cold air hit my face. Cold, damp grass was underneath me, slightly soaking through the back of my shirt and pants. I slowly opened my eyes. The dim light of dawn eased me awake. I tested my hands. Not frozen, not broken, nothing wrong so far. I tested my legs, lifting them up slowly. Everything was fine, if a bit stiff and sore. I noticed the fact that every move I made cracked and/or popped something into place. I obviously hadn't moved for a very long time. I brought my head up slightly, eyes adjusting to the quickly brightening sunlight. I looked down. I was still wearing my typical garments; red shirt with white collar, white sleeves rolled up, long black sleeves reaching down to my wrists, black pants, and black shoes. I slowly stood up, everything in my body popping into place with a satisfying crackle. I rubbed my eyes, getting the sleep out of them, and yawned loudly. As I had just begun to take in my surroundings, I heard light footsteps behind me. Before I could turn around to find the source of the noise, she introduced herself.

"Make a single move and I shove a lighter into your eye socket." A shaky, feminine voice threatened. I happily obliged, _not _wanting to have my corneas gouged out and set ablaze. I waited for another word. The woman said nothing. There was a distinct shuffling noise behind me, like someone digging through a bag, but I dared not move in the slightest. I decided to pass the time by getting back to taking in my surroundings. There were some berry bushes, sticks, flowers, and even a few beehives lying around. There were some bunnies sitting on the ground, but, quite strangely, there were antlers atop their heads. Another thing that caught my eye was the trees. It was very peculiar, as they seemed to be growing at an unnaturally fast rate, with many small saplings growing quickly into medium-sized oaks, and darker, taller, older trees withering into dead sticks in an instant. The sun was also rising into the sky unnaturally fast. Wherever I was, many standard laws of nature apparently didn't apply.

After comprehending all of the information about this strange, new land, my mind returned to the more pressing issue: I was still on the brink of potential death. The shuffling noise had stopped, and my soon-to-be murderer put something sharp into the back of my neck. It did not draw blood, it did not even pierce the skin, but it was unmistakably a weapon, probably a spear of some form. I gulped nervously. My options were limited. I could try running away, but I was not _at all _athletic, and she could always chuck the spear into some part of my frail body, disabling me and most likely ending my life soon after. I could attempt to grab the weapon and somehow turn it around on her, but, considering my lack of strength and overall coordination, I would probably end up impaling my neck on the spear, doing her work for her. The third option that came into my mind was attempting reason with her. I decided this was the best option, since it (hopefully) wouldn't seem threatening to her in any way, would involve my best skill: speaking.

"Ma'am, can I ask something?" I requested in a calm and tentative tone. I hoped the answer would not be a mechanically advanced fire starter being forcefully inserted into one of my tender facial orifices, or a hunting device being swiftly invading my larynx. I was a scientist, after all, and I never dealt with pain in a dignified manner. Most bumps and bruises would result in a day of complaining and sulking over mild pain, and any blood would make me break out in a cold sweat and would essentially ruin my day. I was quite a wimp.

"Do you think you deserve it?" She vehemently spat back at me, poking the spear slightly further into my neck. I wondered if she had mistaken me for someone else.

"Well, everyone deserves last words, right?" I nervously retaliated. She considered this for a second before responding reluctantly with "I guess…"

"Do you mind telling me who you are before skewering me?"

"Stop playing games with me, you know who I am." She said, still in a shaky voice. There was silence for a good 20 seconds before I made a fairly large mistake.

"Follow-up question-"

"Did I say you could have a follow-up question?" The woman's once slightly timid voice now had a venomous tone that sent shivers down my spine. I could feel the sharp rock digging into my skin further. This woman was obviously unstable. Her arms were shaking (which, in turn, meant the spear was shaking as well), and I worried if I made any sudden movements, I would be impaled through the neck. Heck, if _she_ made any sudden movements I would be impaled through the neck.

"Please don't kill me!" I suddenly whimpered. I was always prone to whimpering in times of great stress. She pulled her spear back slightly, obviously surprised. After a second of consideration, she put the weapon back into my neck, digging it even further into the skin. I felt a slight trickle of cool liquid dripping down my neck onto my collar. She had drawn a small amount of blood, and the back of my neck was stinging.

"Play time is over Maxwell, you die now." She responded. Fear struck me. _I've been framed! Who's Maxwell? Please don't kill me! _These were some of the thoughts racing through my mind. Before she shoved the weapon into my windpipe, I quickly tried to defend myself.

"Look, I don't know who Maxwell is, or what you have against him, but how about you put down your spear so we can talk." I closed my eyes and clenched my teeth in preparation for death. Surprisingly, Psycho-McStabby Burn (as I so affectionately referred to her in my head) removed the spear from the back of my neck. I felt more drops of blood trickling down my neck onto the back of my shirt, as my neck stung more than it had originally. The wound was open now.

"If you're not Maxwell- You know you can turn around now- then who are you?" Her tone was more cautious now. I slowly turned around. What I saw was… Interesting. In her right hand was a lighter which she was nervously flicking on and off. In her left hand was a spear. She was slightly shorter than me and was, on a _completely_ unnecessary side note, quite attractive. She had black curly hair which obviously was not well-kept. Her face was covered with specks of dirt and dust, and her expression was weary. Her clothes had a few rips here and there, and were scorched in some places. Strangely, she was wearing a red dress shirt with a black dress and black stockings, almost as if she was trying to mimic my outfit. Her resemblance to me (as far as I could recall at that point) was also uncanny. I gave her an inquisitive look, and proceeded to make another mistake.

"Why do you look so much like me?" I countered. She glared at me and put the spear right up to my chest.

"How about you answer my question first? Or would you rather get acquainted with my spear?" She retaliated, cocking her head to the side and vehemently glowering at me. The spear was now touching my chest. Mistake number three. My inquisition could be my death. As they say, curiosity killed the cat. Luckily, I was not of a feline heritage, nor did I possess any cat-like mutations. This fact made my survivability rate go up by approximately 0.1%.

"Who are you?" she asked again, still glaring. I carefully considered this question.

"My name is… Actually… I have no idea…"

** AN: I hope you enjoyed. If there are any suggestions you have for this chapter, let me know and I can edit them in. **

** ~Flame**


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